Fermata
by Ninazadzia
Summary: Bethyl. Set post 5x08. Contains spoilers. "Hershel's daughter had fallen in love with a motorcycle driving, crossbow-wielding, squirrel hunting redneck. And he couldn't be more proud."


**Disclaimer: This fic contains spoilers from season five episode eight of "The Walking Dead." Read at your own discretion.**

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><p><strong>Fermata<strong>

By Ninazadzia

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><p><strong>Fermata: (n.) <strong>_**a pause of unspecified length on a note or rest**_

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><p>The stereotypes are true, Beth decides. Heaven is astonishingly white.<p>

Her memory is fuzzy at first, but it all comes back quickly. The deal, the trade, the bargain for Noah . . . and then the shooting. She runs a hand through her hair, and pauses over the hole in the back of her head. She gently brushes it; her fingers come back bloody.

She knows where she is, but she doesn't know what she's supposed to be seeing. All that appears to be in front of her is an infinite expanse of white. She can't even tell if she's standing on solid ground, or simply floating through blank space. There isn't a speck of color in sight.

Her eyes take a minute to adjust to the brightness. She looks down, and takes her appearance into account. She's bloodied and bruised, just like she was on Earth. She starts to scrub away the blood that's caked into her nail beds, when she hears a sound off in the distance. She can't place what it is, only that it's some kind of instrument. An organ? A horn, maybe?

_Guess I should find out. _She walks forward, and her footsteps reverberate through the white expanse. A mist envelops her as she walks forward, and the instrument grows louder. Her arms dampen; she reaches down to her cast to wipe off the moisture, only to find it's vanished. She stops and looks at her hands. The blood is gone, and color is restored to her once sickly pallor. She instinctively reaches to the back of her head, and finds that the hole has disappeared.

She shakes off the chill as it crawls up her spine, and continues forward. As her eyes adjust to the brightness, the figures ahead of her begin to focus. The expanse beneath her feet becomes grass, and the never-ending heavens above her become blue sky. And, when she looks forward, what she sees is enough to bring her to tears.

It's her house, and her farm. And sitting on the front porch, with a banjo strumming redneck by his side, is her father.

"Daddy."

The words sounds awfully strangled as they come out of her mouth. Hershel stops rocking in his chair. He stands up, and a sob dances on his breath. He brings his hands to his mouth, and his eyes fill with water.

They simultaneously run forward. Beth flings herself into Hershel's arms, and he grasps her tightly. They stand there, sobbing, wracked with equal parts grief and joy. They don't even notice when the banjo strumming stops.

"Oh, Beth," he cries. He runs his fingers through her soft blonde hair. "This isn't right."

"I wish I could go back." The words come out of her mouth three octaves higher than they should. The quiver in her voice is unmistakable. Hershel pulls hugs her tighter, and plants a kiss on her cheek. She breathes in deeply, and allows him to hold her for another minute. She needs to explain everything. She brings her hand up to her eyes, and wipes the water away.

"The Governor destroyed the prison," she starts, "We all got separated. I was with Daryl for a while, but then these cops, t-they took me . . ."

"I know," he says gently. Confusion crosses her face. "I saw," he explains. "I've seen everything." He brings a hand to her face, and holds it softly. "I've been watching over you this whole time. And I am so proud of you." He smiles, and with a wavering voice says, "I'm so proud of all that you've done."

Her breath hitches. Another onslaught of tears are about to come, but it's interrupted by loud, throaty laughter from behind them.

"Ain't this touching now." Beth looks behind Hershel, and finally recognizes the banjo player on the porch.

Merle.

His bionic hand has vanished, and in its place is one made of bone, flesh and skin. He's every bit as scruffy as she remembers him to be, except now there's a glow to his skin and a light in his eyes. His laugh is low, but it contains none of the malice that she would've expected it to. He slides to his left, and pats to the spot next to him on the bench.

Wordlessly, her and Hershel walk up to the porch. She takes a seat next to Merle, and Hershel reclines in the rocking chair beside her. She clears her throat, and says, "I don' know if you've seen, but Daryl's alive. He's okay."

"Oh, sweetheart. He ain't okay righ' now." He reaches to his right, to the beer bottle that's been placed on the ground. He pops it open, and takes a long swig. He tilts it in her direction. "You want some?"

She shakes her head. "Thank you though."

He nods, and sloshes back another long gulp. "I don' think you realize," he starts, "Tha' my baby brother doesn' get like that aroun' anyone. Not from what I've seen, anyway. You," he tips the bottle at her, "are different."

She blushes. She wants to pin Merle's brashness on the bottle in his hand, but he's unmistakably clear headed.

"Don' get me wrong, he doesn' have a long list of lovers," he continues. "Hell, I bet you anything he's still a virgin—and at thirty-some years old." Beth's face flushes a deep red, and Merle laughs. "Lord knows wha' woulda happened with you two, but if you two 'ad shacked up, my brother woulda been the most unromantic sunofabitch on the planet."

Hershel sighs. "Merle—"

"He loved you, though." He leans in, and looks Beth right in the eye. "He loved ya more than you ever knew."

She gulps, and tries to ignore the lump in her throat. "I know."

He snickers, and shakes his head. He chugs what's left of his beer, and pulls out another one from the cooler beside him. He pops open the bottle, and hands it to her.

"Really, I'm fine—"

"Jus' look," he says. His playful tone has disappeared. "You'll see wha' I'm talkin' about."

The glass bottle feels cold in her grasp. She looks to her father, and he nods. She stares at the brown liquid for a moment. "All I see is beer."

Merle taps the bottle. "Look closer."

So she does. She squints her eyes, sloshes the booze around, and watches as the bubbles rise and pop. And then she sees it. At first the images are incredibly small, but it isn't long before they fill her entire vision. She sees images of her and Daryl, from the fall of the prison to the moment she's kidnapped. And then she sees what happened after. She watches as he runs after the car that took her, from late into the night to the next morning. She wants to hand the bottle back to Merle, because her chest starts to feel heavy. But she's too entranced by the images in front of her. She watches as Daryl and Carol jump into a car and drive off after her; she watches him race through Atlanta, drive the car off the bridge, and risk his life to find her. And then it cuts to the present. With a tear-streaked expression, he puts a bullet through Dawn's skull. And then he scoops up her lifeless body, holds her closely, and carries her out of the hospital.

She closes her eyes, and the images vanish. She begins to lower her beer bottle, but at the last minute, she decides to bring it to her lips. Merle and her father watch as she takes a long, savoring gulp.

And then the tears well up in her eyes. Except unlike earlier, they flow out forcefully and uncontrollably. She gasps for air. Hershel takes her hands in his, assures her that everything is going to be alright, but she shakes her head. "I want to go back," she chokes out. "I _need _to go back, I need to fix this—"

It had all been for her. The car wreck, the bargain, Dawn's death. All of it had been Daryl's doing. It had all come from the most sincere depths of his heart—and it took death for her to realize it.

Hershel wraps his arms around her, while Merle kicks back and crosses his legs. The crying eventually subsides, at which point Merle takes out his banjo and begins strumming again. He plays a medley of tunes—Beth recognizes "The Parting Glass," "Auld Lang Syne," and a few others. Day fades to night on the farm, and her father goes inside and fetches some food. Merle reaches back into his cooler, and grabs three more bottles—one for each of them. And while the pain weighs heavily in her heart, Beth breathes in deeply, and repeats the following words in her head like a prayer.

_He's going to be okay. He's going to be okay. He's going to be okay._

She looks into the bottle, and watches the events on Earth as they unfold. She watches as Daryl and Rick dig a grave in the woods, and mark it with a makeshift tombstone. She watches as Maggie sobs over her body, and as Daryl guts walker upon walker in his saddened rage. Time passes, and slowly, the day's events begin to change. On the twentieth day, Daryl smiles. On the eighty-fifth day, him and Michonne joke around, and he laughs for the first time since Beth's death. On the two hundred and seventieth day, he learns to love again.

"They're all gonna be jus' fine," she decides, on the five hundredth and twenty-fourth day. Hershel nods. He places a hand on her shoulder, and offers him a warm smile. She doesn't realize it, but he knows the truth. He knows something about his daughter that she doesn't even know about herself.

His daughter had fallen in love with a motorcycle driving, crossbow-wielding, squirrel hunting redneck.

And he couldn't be more proud.

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><p><strong>AN: **_**All **_**credit for this fic idea goes to this tumblr post (link: creampuffbootyballoon . tumblr post/104049701022/the-only-thing-that-makes-me-feel-better-right-now). **

**Let me know what you guys thought about this, and what you thought of the mid-season finale. Rest in peace, Beth Greene. You were a relatable and likable**** character, and you went too soon.**

**xx Nina**


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